The Seven Day Itch
by GrandeVanillaSkimLatte
Summary: Hermione spends the week before her birthday trying to find out who is planning a surprise for her. FredHermione.


_A/N – This was written as a thankyou gift to JackMyles, remuslives and WeasleyForMe who wrote me the best fics yesterday. You all made helped make my birthday extra special!_

* * *

The Seven Day Itch

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_September 13_

* * *

Hermione sat at her desk staring absently at the white wall of her cubical. This was how she could be found at three thirty on most days, only showing signs of life by the occasional forlorn sigh.

Ginny rounded the corner of the small cubical situated on the thirteenth floor in the Ministry of Magic and saw her friend sitting in her familiar slumped position, chin propped in hand, eyes slightly glazed.

"Hey Hermione," the red head greeted, Hermione gave a visible start at the sound of the all too cheery voice.

"Oh Ginny, sorry I was just …" Hermione began to explain but Ginny cut her off.

"I know what you were doing. When are you going to stop daydreaming about this mystery man and actually do something about it?" Ginny laughed, surprising her once again by dumping a single red rose on her cluttered desk.

"What's that?" Hermione asked, ignoring the jibe and looking at the flower as it was about to grow a set of teeth and bite her ear off.

"Oh the security Wizard asked me to drop it off to you; apparently an anonymous owl delivered it before lunch,"

"An anonymous owl?" Hermione repeated, prodding the flower with her wand and making it turn blue.

"That's what I said wasn't it?" Ginny said, picking it up again since Hermione seemed more interested in destroying it than reading the small card attached.

"What does it say?" the brunette asked, still eyeing it suspiciously.

Ginny made a big show of clearing her throat and flourishing the piece of parchment before reading it.

"_To be whisked away for your birthday may not be your idea of fun. But come with me and I will be sure to make it a good one_,"

Hermione pursed her lips and snatched the flower out of her best friend's hand, not believing for one moment that that is what it said. Her eyes rose into her hairline as she read for herself the formal kidnap letter.

"This isn't funny Ginny," she muttered, throwing the whole thing in the rubbish bin under the desk.

"You think _I_ wrote this?" Ginny gasped, sounding suitably offended.

"Yes I do, who else would plan a crazy scheme like this for my birthday?" Hermione accused.

"I didn't write that Hermione," Ginny said softly, turning back to look at her, her eyes shining with sincerity.

"Then who did?"

* * *

_September 14_

* * *

"There you are!" the relieved voice called over the din at _The Three Broomsticks_. Hermione jolted from her passionate daydream and looked over to see Ron waving enthusiastically at her. He dodged a few fan girls who fanned Quidditch cards in front of his face, begging for autographs and slid gratefully into the booth she occupied.

"Great game today," she complimented the famous Keeper.

"Yes it was wasn't it? I was a bit worried there when we were a hundred and seventy points down but we pulled through," he gave a cocky grin and tilted his chin at the pretty bar maid who immediately ran off to get him a drink.

Hermione hadn't actually seen the game, or heard anything about it. However she knew from experience that Ron had trouble showing his face in public if they lost. The less than subtle witches who were winking and gesturing to her handsome friend told her that they had won.

Hermione flipped her bottle cap over and over in her fingers, suddenly feeling more than a little foolish for asking him to meet her.

"So what was so important that you asked to see me?" Ron asked, oblivious to her anxious movements. Hermione at least had the good grace to blush before answering.

"Well ah, I received a gift yesterday and I was wondering if it was from you?" she said, not wanting to reveal too much in case someone overheard their conversation.

Ron leaned across the table to hear her, frowning as she spoke, "No, why the bloody hell would I send you a gift?" he asked, subtle as a sledge hammer.

"So you aren't planning to kidnap me on my birthday?" she still asked, leaning back relieved. Sometimes Ron's open book nature came in handy.

"Someone plans to kidnap you? Have you told Harry and the rest of the Auror Department? They will catch the bastards," Ron said angrily as his drink arrived.

Hermione watched his lips wrap around the bottle as he took a swig, she couldn't help but imagine that it was another man in front of her – defending her honour. But it was just plain old Ron.

"No, it's just someone playing a birthday prank. I thought it might have been you," she sighed, finishing off her own butterbeer and folding the bottle cap to shove in the neck.

"Nope not me, sorry. Wonder who it is?" He said thoughtfully, giving a wave to someone who just walked in the door.

Hermione picked up his discarded napkin and began folding it into a crane, she was well aware her movements were born of anxiety but there was nothing she could do to stop it. She hated surprises.

"Me too," she said so quietly that Ron never even heard he was too busy staring at her fingers.

"Hermione, what's that?" he asked, pointing to the napkin. She unfolded it and turned the back toward her gasping. The letters were clearly written in black ink, the handwriting full of swirling tails and flippantly crossed T's.

"_Wear something nice to add some spice but don't get me wrong birthday suits can be fun. So how about we give two of them a run_?" she read aloud. She dropped the offensive note and stood up to look around the crowded bar but nobody she recognised jumped out at her.

"What the bloody hell?" Ron almost bellowed, snatching the note from her hand.

"Bloody hell indeed," she agreed, hiding her flushed face from curious onlookers.

* * *

_September 15_

* * *

Hermione picked her way across the damp patchy grass of the park that faced Grimmauld place early Saturday morning. She still got shivers every time she looked up at the imposing building, remembering her first visit there and all the horrors that had been awaiting them inside.

She was marginally cheered by the knowledge that Harry had put most of his time an effort since the war into fixing it up. She hunched further into her coat and finally crossed the street, eagerly awaiting a hot mug of tea in the bright yellow kitchen.

Number Twelve appeared before her and she was admitted past the heavy wards. She refused to feel sorry for Harry, who had shut himself away from the outside world shortly after Voldemort's defeat. If anyone needed a break it was him and her weekly visits assured her that he was very much alive and happy, if a little pale.

She was about to bang the heavy goblin head shaped knocker to let the boy-who-lived know he had a visitor when she was suddenly assaulted by a large barn owl, who not only dropped a note in her hand but also another much damper gift in her hair. She threw a hex at the retreating bird before turning her attention back to the note which was addressed to her in the same handwriting.

_"The early bird catches the worm or so they say. I'd like to catch one together on your special day!" _She read allowed before giving out a frustrated growl and punching the door.

She was still hopping around in pain when Harry opened it, having heard her not-so-quiet entrance, "What the bloody hell was that?" he asked, looking up and down the street, but refusing to take the first step down.

"That was me," she snarled, stalking past the bespectacled man and into the entrance hall. She didn't need a cup of tea anymore she needed at least a whole bottle of firewhisky, maybe two.

"Any reason you are acting like a crazy woman?" Harry asked, managing to catch her coat as she flung it at his head.

"Yes," she said, thrusting the note out to him, "What do you know about this?" she asked pacing the hall. Harry adjusted his glasses and looked down at the note.

"Um I hope to Merlin you don't think I sent you this Mione," Harry said slowly, "You know I am not interested in you _that_ way," He blushed and Hermione realized how stupid she was being.

"No I suppose not, no", she began to laugh and dragged Harry toward the kitchen as she told him all about it. This was becoming one of those things she was desperate to get off her chest and Harry was always there to listen.

* * *

_September 16_

* * *

On Sunday morning Hermione found herself hiking toward the top of a hill several miles to the north of the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, she never thought she would return to this place.

The big black building stood out like a sore thumb as she puffed her way closer toward it; her last visit here had not been a pleasant one. She had to remind herself that Luna's father was no longer there and the haunting memories of that fateful day during the war were easier to push aside. Mr Lovegood's tragic suicide after being released from Azkaban had been a shock to all.

She finally reached the large front door, surrounded by bursts of colour where Luna had planted all manner of mismatched flora in the dry flower beds. The front door was slightly ajar so Hermione pushed her way in, calling out the blonde woman's name.

Her reason for visiting Luna Lovegood was quite selfish indeed. While reading a copy of the Quibbler she had found on her front door step that morning she had realized that Luna may be able to use her skills as an investigative journalist to find out who was sending her all these letters.

She could hear the printing press upstairs, churning away and took the winding staircase up. Luna was hunched over a small desk; her hair looking more like an owl had come to nest in it for a few days and her clothes not looking much better. She sighed wondering why nobody came to check up on her more often, even If it were a guiding nudge to remind her to eat. Luna's sanity had unfortunately taken a turn for the worst after her father's death and now she focused solely on producing the _Quibbler_ once a week.

"Luna?" she called softly, not wanting to startle the girl. Luna didn't flinch; she just continued scribbling on the piece of paper in front of her without a care in the world. Hermione watched her for a few more minutes before deciding to make her presence more known.

She was just approaching the witch to tap her on the shoulder when Luna spun on her chair to look at her.

"I have been expecting you," she said getting up and walking around Hermione, never quite looking her in the eye. She approached a long bench littered with all manner of paraphernalia and picked up a square box.

"You knew I was coming?" Hermione asked. Hell even she hadn't known she would be making the trip there until a few hours ago.

"Yes of course. How else could you pick up your package?" Luna said, looking down at the box in her hands as if she wasn't sure how it hadn't gotten from the table to where it was.

"May I?" Hermione asked timidly, holding out her hands. Luna pretty much threw it at her on her way back to the desk. Hermione's hands began to shake as she noticed for the first time that it was addressed to her in the same familiar scrawl that had been haunting her for three days.

She carefully tore the brown paper wrapping and dropped the string into the pile of junk on the table at her side. Inside was a shoe box, plain and black – she was almost afraid to open it incase a severed head jumped out and said _boo_. Taking a deep breath and gathering her Gryffindor courage she timidly lifted the lid.

Black ballet slippers nestled deeply in blue tissue paper, they gave off a slight shine in the natural light. They were beautiful and delicate and confusing all at the same time. There was a note resting to one side of it all, she read it to herself and wasn't all that surprised anymore.

'_I've set the date and time, now all I need is you - you're clever enough to figure it out without another clue!'_

"Luna?" she turned sharply to look at the blonde woman who sat quietly at her desk watching her.

"Hermione?" she responded, sounding more herself than she had in years.

"Where did you get this package?" she asked, not really expecting a coherent answer.

"A man gave it to me," she said, smiling cheerily now.

"A man?" Hermione repeated.

"Yes, he said _'Give this to Hermione when she comes'_ and then he made me some soup and brushed my hair for a while, he was a nice man. Do you know him, is he your friend?" Luna asked, standing to look at the shoes.

"No I don't know him," Hermione said before leading the girl downstairs, puzzling over just who gone to so much trouble just to deliver her shoes.

* * *

_September 17_

* * *

Hermione spent a horrid night tossing and turning only to wake with a splitting headache the next morning. Monday's had never been her biggest strength and today was sure to be a challenge.

She indulged in a lengthy shower, read the paper front to back and answered her morning owls before finally deciding that it was time to go to work. Her job at the ministry was not overly difficult, most of it was spent doing paperwork but somebody in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had to do it.

She flood into the main foyer of the towering white building and took the elevator up to her floor. She hated mornings for so many reasons, but being jostled by overweight wizards and pointy elbowed witches was probably at the top of her list, right between the sound of her alarm clock and Draco Malfoy.

_Speaking of blonde haired gits, here's one now_, she thought grimly to herself as she spotted the shock of white blonde hair ahead of her in the hallway. It was amazing that he still manage to maintain his arrogant persona when the Ministry had all but banned him from the wizarding world after the war but he did and it still grated on her nerves.

Draco Malfoy had admitted his role in the death of Albus Dumbledore, he had even admitted to carrying the death mark yet through some stroke of luck, some quick talking and a great deal of his fortune he had managed to stay out of Azkaban, his parents hadn't been so lucky.

The punishment the Minister of Magic himself had appointed Draco's punishment which included repossessing all of the Malfoy estates, a large donation to be made to the restoration of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and any status he had gained through his fathers influence to be stripped. By the end of his very public humiliation Draco Malfoy had been left with one job offer after his seventh year and that was as a ministry official mail carrier.

He wore the robes with dignity at least, but she refused to feel pity toward him, he got what he deserved. He too didn't treat her much different than their school years together, infact sometimes she half expected Minerva McGonagall to jump out from behind the cubical walls and strip them both of house points.

She hung back a little until he turned into one of the offices to deliver the larger packages that couldn't be charmed like the memos could for safety reasons. Darting past the open doorway she made it to her desk before he rolled around the corner with his trolley.

She spun on her rolling chair in her haste to beat him, hitting into the wall of the cubical and making enough clatter that several other employees stood to look over the white walls. She gave a smile and waved off their concerned looking before dumping her bag under her desk and ruffling some papers to make it look like she had been at work for hours.

"Classy Granger," a sneering voice said from the doorway. She used the points of her heels to spin her around to stare at the smirking pure-blood, obviously that was the closest thing he could give to a laugh.

"Thanks Malfoy," she replied, decided to take the indifferent approach.

"Aha," he said, almost cracking a smile before thrusting a small square package at her, "here" he said, turning to go.

The first thing that jumped out at her was the now familiar scrawl; it was clearly once again addressed to her but underneath there was more. She stared at the tiny scrawl not quite understanding the message.

"_My gift is not flowers or jewels but something from the heart. Would you be so kind as to give it a kick start_" Draco read over her shoulder, snickering under his breath.

It was that snicker that finally broke her strained hold on her civilised calm. She launched herself from the chair and knocked him into the cubical wall, pressing her face close to his she snarled, "Where did you get this package?"

"I don't know where it came from," he spat back, trying to pry her hands from his robes and looking more than a little disgusted that she had dared to come so close to him.

"If you are behind this sick joke it's not funny," she threatened.

"What you think I am sending you love notes? You must be as deluded as your little admirer if you think that," he huffed, finally managing to loosen her grip and slipping from her hold only to take refuge behind his heavily laden trolley.

Hermione had exhausted her frustration and slumped into her chair, not bothering to answer him as she waited for his departure. The soft sound of the wheels rolling along the carpet told her he was gone and she was left to her own thoughts and an unopened package.

She hated to admit that her own issue with having a secret admirer was the fact that she herself spent much of her own time admiring another from afar, not that he would ever know, or pull a trick like this to get her attention. So as flattering as it was she could never give this mysterious person a go.

Deciding that the package couldn't be worse than the shoes she slowly undid the brown paper wrapping and opened the purple box to find a bright red heart shaped egg. She slowly lowered it to the floor and glanced at the note again just to make sure she had indeed read that she was meant to kick it.

Nudging it gently with her foot the whole thing began to shake violently, she scooted her chair into the far corner of the cubical, slightly afraid as a deep crack formed down the middle. It was the muffled squeaks that bought her back within touching distance and she watched in amazement as the egg hatched a bright red pigmy puff.

Reaching down she picked up the tiny bundle of fur and cuddles it close to her chest as it hummed in pleasure. She almost dropped it as its fur changed to a deep yellow; she had never seen anything like it. Looking back at the cracked egg on the floor she saw the faint gold etching of a triple W. She had her next clue.

* * *

_September 18_

* * *

The following day after work Hermione marched down the street toward the brightest and most noticeable building in Diagon Alley. The bright purple and yellow building featured such displays as the latest Skiving Snack boxes and trick wands.

She was about to march right through the door when a cage full of various coloured pigmy puffs stopped her in her tracks. In a basket beneath them sat bright red eggs, some shaped like hearts like hers had been but others were stars or crowns, there was even one that she thought resembled a snitch.

'_Mood Puffs – so you never have to guess if they are hungry again!_' the sign read. She looked down at her yellow puff, who was beginning to show signs of turning a brilliant shade of orange and realised that must be why he kept changing on her.

When she had put him down on her desk to work the day before he had turned a deep blue and she thought he might be cold, so she picked him up and he instantly turned back to yellow. When she had fed him the crusts from her sandwich he had turned a charming shade of pink and when he slept; at least that's what she thought he was doing when he made the odd noise he turned a lovely green.

Looking away from the sign she saw two identical red heads staring at her curiously from inside and remembered why she was there. Taking a deep breath she entered the store and headed straight for the front counter.

"Hermione! How is our favourite third of the infamous golden trio?" George greeted happily.

"Fine," she answered stiffly, unable to look Fred in the eye. Harry was the only one who knew she harboured forbidden feelings about him, infact he had figured it out back at Hogwarts when he had noticed the way she had blushed every time Fred entered a room, or god forbid spoke to her.

"And what can we do for you on the eve of your birthday?" George asked, not deterred in the least by her less than open attitude.

"This," she said, thrusting out her now orange pigmy puff toward the red head. George gently took it from her hand and slowly examined the tiny creature.

"What about him? He seems perfectly happy to me, if a bit excited at the moment," Fred answered, staring at his brother's hands. Hermione snatched her pet back, not liking the way his fur was beginning to turn red and petted him, still refusing to look the twins in the eye.

"I don't think he is sick, I want to know where he came from," she stated.

George grinned, "Well you see Hermione, when a mummy pigmy puff and a daddy pigmy puff love each other very much …"

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence," she threatened, blushing madly and resisting the urge to cover her young pets' ears, that's if it had ears at all. She glanced at Fred and noticed he too had gone a bit red around the collar.

"Look, I just want to know if you could tell me who bought him off you," she asked.

"Oh sure I can," George said happily, slipping his hands into his robe pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Who?" she prompted when he didn't answer; her pigmy puff gave a squeak of protest when she squeezed him just a little too hard in anticipation.

"Oh he came in yesterday, about yay high," he raised his hand to match his height, "Good looking fellow, we must say we are proud to see our little brothers friend finding such a good match, isn't that right Fred?" George laughed.

"Yes," Fred answered, Hermione was suddenly aware of the intense looking he was giving her.

"I take it I am not going to be getting much more information out of you am I?" she finally huffed, hiking her bag up on to her shoulder and clutching her pigmy puff to her chest.

"Nope," George said happily, turning and walking into the back room, leaving her with Fred. She was suddenly all too aware just how quiet the shop was.

"Well I had best be going," she stammered.

"Just one thing," Fred said, surprising her with his sudden jump over the counter. She watched him dig around the top draw for a second before producing a plain white envelope.

"This is for you," he said, handing it to her, she once again noticed how red he was turning and she opened the envelope with caution.

It was a simple birthday card with a picture of a cat who looked surprisingly like Crookshanks riding a broomstick with a stolen pie, a witch was chasing after him shaking her fist. She tried not to smile at the image but failed and was less cautions opening the card.

_"You have the date, you have the time- you even have the shoes! Tell me that you'll come with me and put an ending to this ruse!"_

She looked up sharply at the red head before her and barely dared to believe it was true, "I-I don't understand," she stammered, reading the card a few more times as if it didn't say what it said.

"Will you let me take you to dinner tomorrow night?" Fred asked, she had never heard such a sincere question in her life.

"Yes," she found herself answering as a brilliant smile washed across her features.

* * *

_September 19 – One Year Later_

* * *

"What do you think about Ignatius?" Hermione called from the bathroom as she combed her hair.

"Chudley?" Fred returned from his prone position in bed.

"Einstein?" She returned, emerging from the bathroom, clipping her earrings in.

"Einstein? Honestly Hermione that has to be the worst one you have come up with yet", Fred snorted, rolling out of bed and approaching her in all his naked glory.

"Better than fluffy or worse cuddles", she countered, rattling off Ginny's suggestions.

"At this rate we are going to name him killer," Fred sighed, finally reaching her and pulling her into his arms.

"I like it," Hermione moaned as he placed hot opened mouthed kisses along her neck.

"Mmmm me too baby but we can't be late to your dinner or mum will kill us," he answered, making his way along her jaw toward her mouth.

She pushed against his chest before she became too distracted to remember what they had been talking about.

"No killer, it's the perfect name for him," she smiled and looked at toward the little basket on the bedside table where her tiny yellow pigmy puff lay humming to himself happily.

"Killer it is," Fred said, finally stealing his kiss.

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